...quiet, about a lot of things...

Saturday, March 31, 2007

Meet the Neighbors, Buck Squared



AND


And of course.."Ah come on ma, let me out....I just want to say HELLLLL-o...I promise!"

posted by wendy at 11:39 AM 4 comments

Thursday, March 29, 2007

The Art of Living..for Poetry Thursday

Today's challenge is: find yourself in a piece of art. Well, I have been called a piece of work before, but I don't think that's what they meant! tee hee.

But strangely enough...I have had this thought before. The poem below will address my resemblance to the birth of Venus...OK...I know it's a bit daft....but here goes.





Resemblance

I am
conspicuously
older
than everyone
else.

out of place
in my college
desk.

far away from
the ivy
halls
I had
dreamed of
as a kid.

I have my own kids now.

The baby sitter
is paid
ten dollars
an hour
for me
to learn
about
Renaissance
art history.

(my husband asked
if they had a class
on laundry.
I pretended
not to hear him.)

but now I hear him.
in my head.
Along with the
others laughing
at the middle aged
housewife trying
to go backwards
to go forwards.

I cross my feet
under my chair
just as I did
in second grade.

Lights go out
as slides begin.
Then,the world
breaks open,
like a new
box of crayons.

and there before me,
projected through
dusty community college
air, floats someone
they call Venus.

I see her everyday
I the mirror.
I see her face in mine.

Leaning forward
in my 1950's
desk chair,
I know I must
be losing
my mind.
full in midlife
crisis.

crazy,
that she
should live
in me!

I try
to clear
my head,
to refocus.

yet the
vision of
Venus
remains.
still dancing
in my eyes.

wlf 9:42am

I gotta run now...But I'll be over to PT by lunch......Have fun!

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posted by wendy at 9:12 AM 23 comments

Sunday, March 25, 2007

Provisions for Sunday Scribblings

Early on, I took the kitchen, like a captain on her ship. I swaggered and mastered and ran tight. I would conquer marriage one pork chop, one baked ziti at a time. There is no other way to sail the sea of life, eyes on the horizon, still meeting every swell with speed.

But the far off shores never were obtained. Land was never in sight. After years at my post, I realized I was no captain, just a scullery maid at best. I was the only on green with sickness. I was chopping while others enjoyed the view.

I abandoned my post, and would have jumped the ship all together, if not for my fear of sharks and monsters in the water.

So instead I hid in a small little nook, surrounded by the bare essentials: a few books, a few pens,crusts of bread and the wrappers there of, waxy and crinkled.

It wasn't much, but at least I had the sun, and at night the starts plotted my course. They were the only recipe I would ever need now. Now I was no longer captain, but a stowaway.


Let's sneek a peek at what else is in the kitchen...here
posted by wendy at 9:02 AM 11 comments

Sunday, March 18, 2007

Inspire Me for Sunday Scribblings

For Sunday Scribblings the prompt was inspiration... How do we garner it's favor?

Much has been said these past few months about the laws of attraction. While I am not a big believer in "the Secret" marketing extravaganza, I do know that attraction is of vital importance to inspiration. I just don't think it's a circus dog that you can train to jump through hoops. It's a force to be reckoned with, a master. Not the mastered.

As a younger woman, I was a somewhat flirty girl. I was also extremely shy. Huh? Opposites attract, even in one skin. Good girl, bad girl...Madonna, whore. These are not new ideas.Aren't the young years when we seek to shed the molds we have been pressed into by parents and school and peers? So, I smashed all of the molds and made some sporadic frenetic choices. I have been both reckless and a recluse. Clashing life themes. Costume changes. Wild dashing between heroine and villain. I spent a good part of my early years trying everything once...well almost everything.

Inspiration comes when you start to tire of the smorgasbord you have made of your life. You look at shoes that always made you feel like a hooker, and pinched at the toes..and you toss them. But you remember the party and the way they made you feel wild. People can be collected the same way. As bad as this sounds..discarded in the same way too. I have a recycle bin of acquaintances...and so does everyone. We all search for the right fit. We all pare down our wardrobes. We all ruthlessly edit.

We are all ruthlessly edited.

Then some where in the middle of this deconstruction and weeding, I tucked away the things I truly was. I folded them in my pockets. I wedged them between my heart and my mind. I built them into long towers of character,sturdy spiny rods of belief. I emerged. Me.

But that does not stop the fascination and attraction to things that are not me. I find poems in voices that say things I would never say. I find stories in wanting things I do not want. I find fever in an clear remembrance of a grasp or a tug. I am excited by allowing the attraction to things I do not want in bed next to me. But I still want...I still want.

And what to do with all that want? Push it from one place, lower in nature, to another...and use the fire it brings to write.

Turns out, I am still a horrible flirt...but now I flirt with the air. I flirt with memories and alternate endings. I do this from my bedroom in my very real house, holding my very real family, and sheltering my very real life. I know how I want things to be...but I will always be attracted to the notion of possibilities.They are always welcome to stop by for a visit. Come in for a chat. I love to hear their stories. And when nothing is left but the crumbs, I will bid them farewell, and safe travel...I will close the door, and bolt the lock, and climb the stairs towards home.
posted by wendy at 9:26 AM 10 comments

Thursday, March 15, 2007

Definition, please..For Poetry Thursday

Scrabble is big in my husbands family. The sisters-in-law all play(4 in all), as well as the mother-in-law. No big surprise, right. Everyone plays Scrabble eventually. But Scrabble to these women is a blood sport.I did not know this, when I was new to the clan.

I played Scrabble with my Grandmother when I was young, to increase my vocabulary. I never pleased her with a double word score word "simple word". I did, however, make her smile if I came up with an unusual word. Granted, I was 6 and 7..but if I could lay down a word like girth or pinch, she would chuckle. These words showed creativity. These words revealed the power of language, far beyond the typical "cat and dog or run". She was teaching me to reach for detail. in one word. I often misspelled words, and she let them go on the board anyway. This tradition, I carry on today with children. I always allow a truly great word to be Miss-spelled, if it is unintentional. (I yank it if it is to get points. That's cheating.)

Point being,(is there one?) I hardly even knew there was a scoring system component to Scrabble. It was a word game to me. I once suggested a word to Sister in law #4...during a game, as she was scanning her tiles and board. I thought she was stuck. Little did I know, she was doing complicated math calculations in her head..maximizing point potentials and blocking strategies. I just saw a pretty little word, maybe it was mirth..I can't remember.

She ended up pulling off some intricate back hand spring, double twisting, lay out Scrabble maneuver using only two tiles and gaining something like 47 points. She didn't have to advise me to back away from the board. I did that all on my own.


This week's prompt at Poetry Thursday was to define a word. We aren't supposed to know the word's meaning. I think I"ll twist the prompt a bit. I 'll use a "little known word". But I can't help it..I'll have to know what it means before I write .. I'm just odd that way. Here I go...



Vespid


Veronica
was
vapid,
but
a vision
on
her
Vespa.


To me,
that
was
enough
to
define
her
as
vespid.

However,
my assumption
was faulty.

It was:
an ability to sting sequentially without consequence
that made her so.

My sting
was
suicide.

life
or
death.

For
she
alone,
had
the
luxury
of
retribution.

wlf 10:04 am

That was fun. Vespid = wasp. Let's buzz over to Poetry Thursday, shall we?

PS..I even fooled my spell checker!! Now that has got to earn me bonus points..Right??

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posted by wendy at 9:19 AM 18 comments

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

Bambi Bambi everywhere..

If you have read this blog for very long, you know I have kinda a history with deer...But this short entry is not that kindof entry. There are no babies yet..but lots of pregnant does. And 3 amazing bucks..I betcha 8 pointers(learned this from some of my true country neighbors)..that I see each morning and afternoon these days.

After months of sparse foraging, (the bushes were lost in at least 2 feet of snow for months)little green haze is spreading on the ground, like puzzle pcs working on solving its way to the center. One day it's brown and winter..the next, spring is starting to claim victories. No blooms yet..but soon. So for now the deer are in a thanksgiving prayer session, praising God with their noses to the ground, jaws moving like metronomes! Let the buffet begin! LIFE IS GOOD.

Deer are one of the little everyday pleasures of living in Colorado. A simple gift to see the majesty of these bucks.

Babies will be here soon, all spotted and wobbly.

I do not get hunters. Every time I see a fawn, or doe or buck I pause. A little moment of magic and beauty and grace. Why would you want to kill that?? To make jerky??

And I don't care if they eat my bushes(which they have) or eat my Halloween hand grown pumpkins (yep, those too.) I am blessed by them everyday. If a little foliage is the price I must pay..so be it..

If I had a cell phone I could click a pic..but I don't own one..I must try to remember my camera..

Spring is coming...I galloped Roux outside today. It felt so good. It's been a loooooog winter. But here in Colorado, we aren't in the clear for "no more snow" until memorial day. You think I jest..but oh no..It's been known to happen.

So while it's warm(70 degrees today!!!hehehe giddy giggles)...I'll be riding into the sunset!

Don't worry though, I'll always be back by dinner.
posted by wendy at 7:57 PM 6 comments

Sunday, March 11, 2007

Self Editing

I wrote an entire post of wallowing. Thank God for delete.

The gist of it is this...When am I going to grow up and fight my own battles? When will I draw a line in the sand and hold it.?

I came home and announced to Michael...that I was a wuss. A pushover. He gave me a look that said.."No duh?!"

Being a nice girl has been my thing for a very long time. But the truth is, I hate getting shoved around. I just wimp out and avoid conflict.

This must stop..here me...IT MUST STOP!!

No more Mrs Nice Guy..or whatever.

OK, that's it for now..Have a great day!!
posted by wendy at 10:11 PM 3 comments

Thursday, March 08, 2007

Ruby Red for Poetry Thursday

Out of left field. Sorry. Really no excuse...There are many women living in my head. They surprise me sometimes! I honestly don't think that this poem is based on fact...least I don't think it is....


My Rules

There it was
tucked in a box
tied with a pretty bow.

My red betrayal.

I have always been
a white lace girl.
Maybe pink when
I feel the need
to blush.

Even black is a push
come to shove.
Not really my form.

I was certain you knew me.

So why this
sudden need
for scarlet?
Am I to be
someone else tonight?

Should I keep my
smart mouth shut?
But perhaps you
prefer it open.

Tell you what
make you a deal.
I'll be your vixen
when you buy
your own condoms.

Til then,
Let me drive.


wlf 9:33 pm



Lets mosey on over to PT..shall we.... This should be interesting.

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posted by wendy at 8:00 AM 18 comments

Wednesday, March 07, 2007

Another Birthday Boy.....

Behold, my first exposure to Neil...This ballad...and I was hooked. I loved the picture...and thought it may be Neil,himself. I was very intrigued.

I had an odd experience trying to shop for a card for his birthday. The present was much easier. But card shopping for me, is intimate. I took my time...and tried to pick something that would fit this man I really don't know...but feel like I do.

I promise, he will always be one of my favorite strangers that I thihk I know. I will only yawn during Dooce conversations...or All My Children references. He's will always be challenging pen pal..He makes me want to "write" up to his level.

I'm sure that I am older than he.....but he feels like the cool older brother I never had.

Happy Birthday Neil!

You've made my blog world a much more colorful place in which to live. I hope you can feel me smiling at you...and wishing you all the best in the world!
posted by wendy at 12:05 AM 1 comments

Sunday, March 04, 2007

Very Superstitious...for Sunday Scribblings

I was born on the 13th day of October. My mom was born on the 13th day of May. Let's take this further.. My sister was born on the 15th day of August...My father, the 15th day of January. I have nothing in common with my sister or father..past DNA. I have more than several things in common with my mother. We are both quasi tragic figures in our own minds.

I do pay attention to coincidence. Is this superstition? I don't know. I look for signs, acknowledge patterns.

Every once in a while, it seems God is trying to give me a hint on the sly. Who am I do look a gift horse in the mouth.

As for walking under ladders, I try to avoid this, as I trip often...and could easily bring that house of cards down...

For more superstitions...grab your lucky rabbits foot...and come with me....
posted by wendy at 10:58 AM 7 comments

Thursday, March 01, 2007

Beware Small Deaths for Poetry Thursday

Did you see this on the news?

Beware Small Deaths

A small thing,
honey bees
leaving

their Queen
abandoned
in her chamber
of thickening
wax.

Nectar less,
She doesn't know yet
that those workers
just aren't coming
back.

Perhaps she waits,
certain that heavy
pollen and bumper
crops have delayed
the return.


Yet vast fields,
still ripe with promise,
lay unattained
attracting no suitors.
Instead, the ground
is crunchy with carcasses
of the surrendered campaign.

There will be no
lovemaking of lilys.
No mating of plums.
The air is silently
sterile, no hummed
tension. Just baron
maidens left all
in a row.

.
Unafraid of sting
I steal out,
for one last flower
to press in a book.

I think of tea
searching for
the taste of
honey.

wlf


Happy Poetry Thursday.

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posted by wendy at 8:17 AM 23 comments